This past weekend we ended up at a friends' house, debating Life and whether free will is a thing, or it is all predetermined and we are merely dominoes doomed to fall along the weaving path we've been placed.
Van Gogh's "Starry Night" in dominoes. Just because.
Some valid related thoughts include the fact that if God is all powerful, then he could stop bad things from happening. The fact that he does not stop them means he is indirectly responsible for them happening.
Or what if we only create the idea of free will in our minds because we feel the need to have some control in the world, but really we are only choosing things already chosen for us to choose.
Or maybe, the Deist argues, God created us in his image, which included brains and souls, and set us free to make our way in his world and wants to see what we'll make of it.
I tend to fall more in the grey area of all of these. Mostly because the Bible seems to imply both that God is very aware of all of our dealings in the world, but also that we do, on some level, have choices to make. I also, based on personal experiences, believe very strongly that sometimes God does step in, in unusual (I won't say unnatural, since that's impossible of the being that created the natural world) ways to help us along. Perhaps, to assuage the Deist--if he's reading this--I will say this
only happens if we are completely lost as to what to do and just ask God
to make it obvious what our choice should be: i.e. get rid of the other
options.
There was a point to this.
Oh, yes.
I am very bad at making decisions. The more possibilities, the more confused and distressed I get. Ice cream shops paralyze me. I know I will always appreciate a strawberry milkshake, but variety is the spice of life, so I should try something new, but then a decision is demanded: I panic; my vision blurs, and I walk away from the counter holding a cup that contains all the things I like separately (like heath bits, gummy bears, skittles, caramel, and vanilla ice cream) but are Not So Great when combined. I always end up huddled in a corner with my concoction--nose wrinkling, and just wishing I'd gotten the strawberry milkshake.
Simple, and perfect.
Luckily, I never had to make the decision to be a Christian. That was obviously predetermined for me. Probably because God knew that, if given the option, I would find it hard to give up, say, nature worship and a totem animal (it would be an otter, folks).
What. Google: this is not an otter. Try again.
Hello, friends! This is me and my otter friend.
So then I cruised along through life. High school was easy: I was homeschooled. College was easy: my Dad taught at a good school and we got free tuition, and also a ton of my high school friends were there.
But then this dude wanted to date me.
Hoo boy. THAT is a decision.
Cockatiel and cat not included.
As all our friends and family will attest, I freaked out about it so much I made myself sick. I thought the dude was pretty hot, and it was cute he liked animals and stuff, but boyfriends are big responsibilities. Especially because boyfriends have this nasty habit of becoming husbands.
Long story short, I eventually ended up just begging God to make it obvious what I should do because I had no clue. I was too anxious to even have a personal opinion, one way or the other.
Whew. It worked.
Now I'm moving on to wondering what to do with my life, career-wise. I like them animals, but don't have any formal training. So I ponder and pray and ask God to help me figure out what I should do.
So, as set-up, two years ago, I drive by this beautiful farm and see a sign proclaiming that friesian horses dwell within. I stalk online, email the owner, and wonder of wonders, she needs help with the horses. So I prove myself capable to her.
Except for my habitual phone use while driving. Naughty stuff, folks.
Then I ask to watch ultrasounds of mares. Then she asks if I've ever thought about being a veterinary technician. I have not, but I sure am now. But then I worry because I am a hands-on learner, and I fear being given a book of animal science facts to learn by rote memorization (which fails me miserably). so maybe I'm not cut out for it? And then a couple months later I ask to watch them castrate a colt, because I'm thinking more about the whole vet tech thing. And then my boss asks if I want to volunteer at their veterinary office (oh, yes: her husband is a vet and their office is half-way between my home, and her home), and they will train me in the ways of the veterinary technician. So then that sounds awesome. It won't cost us anything extra, since working at her place already more than pays for the gas to drive there and back, and the office is on my way.
I will definitely be the one with the stethoscope. Not the bored one. This picture cracks me up. I am so glad I found it. Look at everybody's faces. Hahahaha.
But then what about hubsand and his master's degree? Usually that lands people in CA. We don't want to go to CA. We have friends here, and a church here, and some of our family is here. Hubsand hears about a job possibility in Mediocre, PA, but isn't sure it's the right thing for him. So then he's talking to one of his part-time professors about this very thing and she mentions she's CEO for a company in our very own Mediocre, PA that does things Garrett's interested in, and she straight-up says "if you want a job, come talk to me."
So he goes and thinks about it, and then emails her, and she says "come to our company's office Wednesday and let's talk."
Did I mention there's a veterinary technician school in Mediocre, PA? Because that's important. Also that my other current place of work (a place, you will recall, I did not apply for, but also just landed in my lap because I worked with somebody years ago, and then met her again on a cold day at a gas station no-where near where either of us lives) is fabulous, and would probably work with me so I could still work part-time and go to school.
So now we've got two futures up in the air, and a meeting on Wednesday that might help solidify them both.
But danged if it doesn't seem like we might be stuck in Mediocre, PA for a while yet. Because things keep happening, and we keep meeting people in hallways, or online, and we happen to prove ourselves competent to them, before we realize just how important it might be, and then they happen to have keys to doors that are really appealing.
We didn't orchestrate or plan these things. Hubsand and I had other plans (or no plans). And, might I add, plans separate and unrelated to each other, career-wise, and then whoops! Events transpire and people we meet innocently are suddenly pushing us both towards futures that would co-exist peacefully with our current lives and our apartment lease contract.
Regardless of how much (if any) control I might have otherwise, I am definitely not in complete control of my life.
Sometimes when I hear Elton John sing "Goodbye, Yellow Brick Road" I try to imagine him as a farmboy.
How about no.
Elton John might have put on some wellies at some point and been corralled in a pasture for an album photo op, but has obviously no other ties to the country life.
I've heard people complain about strangers wearing cowboy boots when s/he (the observant complainer) thinks the boots look silly and doesn't think the stranger has ever set foot in a barn. Now, I do find some styles of boot reprehensible.
This, for instance.
But in general I like the look, and they make me think happy thoughts.
I think about grass, barns, and being unafraid to walk through mud. I think of the warm, molasses smell of sweet feed, and the pleasure of doing chores at the farm while various animals follow me around. I get an egotistical thrill when I turn around and run into a horse (or llama, or nilgai, as the case has been) who had been about his own business before I showed up, but decided he would rather spend time with me. They follow me because they are genuinely interested in what I am doing and want to stay close; I like being viewed as a safe presence to animals, and also to humans.
Me and Mara, very content in each others personal bubbles.
(Photo by Priscilla)
Sometimes the horses try to get involved with my chores and end up pulling hoses out of troughs, and picking up and losing brushes and tools I was trying to use.
Iron Man, not helping.
This is frustrating, but even then it is a delightful sort of frustrating. The kind of frustrating where I yell a little bit and demand an explanation, but can laugh because the general response is to amble over to me to see what the fuss is about, and ask for an itchy forehead to be scratched.
Here Redman (Iron Man's son) gets into the game of de-worming and
helps me chase an unwilling Magic down.
"I'm just going to rest my entire head here, thanks." -Tomme
A couple weeks ago I was hosing a sweaty Iron Man off near my boss's house. A car pulled up with a couple people there on matters of business. I talked to them while continuing my work. My work included me making several demands of Iron Man, including telling him to move his butt over, and pick his desert-plate-sized foot up off the hose line. In both cases he obeyed instantly without me touching him, but only by hearing my words and reading my body language.
When a stud horse that weighs roughly 1300 or so pounds and whose head towers over his observers decides to move, it is an impressive thing. I made my demands and turned back to the visitors. Their mouths were actually open.
"That," said one. "Is a beautiful horse."
I realized in that moment that to these two businesspeople, I had an impressive skill set they were not gifted with (or had no knowledge of), but definitely admired. I was actually badass. I could just tell this huge creature to move, and he would, without a grumble, and continue playing with the thin rope I held him by. I suddenly understood that there are remarkably few things I feel pretty confidant in about my abilities, but understanding horses is one, and it is amazing.
This all does go back to music.
I have a great job in Pittsburgh with a very reasonable, understanding boss, and a lot of really fun co-workers. I am very competent in my job and enjoy doing it well. But I don't love it. I don't love the commute that sometimes takes 24 minutes and sometimes takes an hour and a half, but usually takes 40 minutes. I don't love all the cars and the people and the noise, and the time it wastes in my day where I could be doing something useful or fun, or nothing at all. I don't love the city. Sometimes it is okay, and sometimes I am glad I can easily access an asian food store, or go to Bikram yoga every week with a friend. Sometimes at night when we're driving back into the city it is quiet and all you can see are the lights and it is beautiful.
But I can't have a dog. I can't take a walk without staying alert and making eye contact with strangers so we both know we've both been seen, if the police have to ask. I can't walk outside and see sky and fields. I walk outside and see an attractive apartment building blocking the sky, with some shaded porches on which a few hopeful tenants have tried to keep planters alive, and no grass, and a few, thin little trees in grates by the road.
Most of the time I am philosophical about this and focus with pleasure on the asian food stores and the yoga and friends and blessing of a job I have. But sometimes I get depressed, and stuck in traffic, and decide for subtly masochistic reasons to play John Denver, and he sings this song.
Horses are creatures who worship the earth
They gallop on feet of ivory
Constrained by the wonder of dying and birth
The horses still run, they are free
My body is merely the shell of my soul
But the flesh must be given its due
Like a pony that carries its rider back home
Like an old friend who's tried and been true
I had a vision of eagles and horses
High on a ridge in a race with the wind
Goin' higher and higher, faster and faster
On eagles and horses I'm flying again
Eagles inhabit the heavenly heights
They know neither limit nor bound
They're the guardian angels of darkness and light
They see all and hear every sound
My spirit will never be broken or caught
For the soul is a free-flying thing
Like an eagle that needs neither comfort nor thought
To rise up on glorious wings
I had a vision of eagles and horses
High on a ridge in a race with the wind
Goin' higher and higher, faster and faster
On eagles and horses I'm flying again
Flying again
Flying again
Flying again
I'm flying again
And then I just am sad.
I do not belong in a city, even though I appreciate some amenities it offers.
I am so glad I still have the opportunity to go north and see nothing but animals and nature for a few hours* every week, and a husband who understands and supports that need.
And then I am there and feel more like this song:
Somewhere out on the prairie
Is the greatest cowboy that's ever been
And when he lays his hands upon the ponies
They shudder with an understanding skin
And he says ponies
Now ponies don't you worry
I have not come to steal your fire away
I want to fly with you across the sunrise
Discover what begins each shining day
When the storm clouds in the west
Are quickly gathering
The ponies they run wild there
Before it rains
You'll see their sleek dark bodies
Brightly gleaming
You know the fire is flying through
Their brains
And he says ponies
Ponies don't you worry
I have not come to steal your fire away
I want to fly with you across the sunrise
Discover what begins each shining day
I want to fly
Me and Malachi, a pony (and sometimes butt-face) from Marmon Valley Farm. (Picture by Priscilla)
Tomme, enjoying the day.
(Picture by Ronni)
This is a bad picture of my very own Rust-pony from MVF. I miss him. Other people didn't like him, but I did, and he would do anything I asked him to (sometimes we fought about it, first).
Ronni (owner of the horses I work with on Thursdays) suggested I look into veterinary technician schools, and that idea is sounding more and more appealing. Also, there is one in Silicon Valley (where we might end up when Garrett graduates in December). I might have found a career direction for this whole animal thing!
That would be nice, and for now I pull on my boots with pleasure on Thursdays, and sometimes decide to wear them in the city for no reason at all.
I've earned the right.
*Fruedian slip, I accidentally typed "horses" again, first, and corrected it.
The
morning began unlike most other Saturday mornings. Abigail woke late
and leisurely stretched herself out, admiring the leggy blonde sleeping
beside her.
"Musta put on the extra charm last night," she mused.
The Cat walked in, tail tip twitching.
"They're gone," she meowed. Her green eyes took in the bed and its
occupants. "Sorry," she said, and slipped quietly out the door for a
rendezvous with the tom next door.
The "they" the Cat had mentioned were the homeowners.
"Gotta nice place, that Daniel and Brittney,"
Abigail said. She slid out of the bed and out the door to the shower in
one smooth and liquid motion. Emerging a half-hour later she found the
blonde in the kitchen, wearing a slim white shirt and a beard you'd like
to frolic in.
"I made breakfast," he said.
It looked good,
like something you'd want to eat on toast. Abigail sat down and ate her
omelet. She drank her coffee--chai latte, the way she liked it--and
watched warily as the blonde cleaned and loaded his hefty
semi-automatic, playing periodically with the safety.
The Cat walked in, unaware, wearing a face that bespoke a pleasant encounter.
The blonde swiveled around in his chair, aimed, and fired.
The Cat sank to the floor, one paw weakly stretched out towards the orange-tipped blue dart, and lay there, prone.
Abigail sipped her coffee, and reached for the salt.
Garrett and I went to England for Garrett's brother's wedding to a girl from Manchester who shall afterwards be known as "Jo", for that is her name. I actually met her at our wedding in December, but naturally weddings are not good times for relaxed hanging-out and real getting-to-know-yous. All interactions thus far, though, have been delightful--including with her very large English family (6 siblings including Jo, 5 of which also have spouses, and some have children).
Speaking of family, I also spent a good deal more time with my in-laws, who continue to amuse and delight me. All except Joey. He's a one-trick pony who can only talk about politics and how soon Garrett and I are going to make him a baby.
I will now attempt to give a relatively correct chronological play-by-play using only my wit and the photos I was able to capture with my dumb phone camera.
Please enjoy.
Wednesday we traveled to England. At the advice of multiple people, I acquired a few xanax from an Undisclosed Source to take for the plane rides. I took one the weekend before to make sure I didn't have any weird side-effects. I even took it with alcohol. No side-effects occurred that weekend, though I did notice on the trip back yesterday (with no alcohol) that my left index finger had a habit of spasming every half hour or so. Anyhow, some of you are dying to know... yes, the xanax worked. Next time I'll need to plan further ahead and get an actual prescription for more than two of them. Two were not enough to last all the traveling, but it was definitely obvious when it started working, since all my twisty insides went from High Alert Stress and Agony to Zzz.
We arrived in England, got to the house around 9am Thursday morning, and went to bed. I assumed we'd wake up after a power nap in an hour or so. When we finally did wake up, it was 4:30pm, and we were told that while we slept, Joey had crept ever so softly into our room and laid spread-eagle across us and then taken up little spoon position with Garrett for twenty minutes.
Neither Garrett nor I woke during this, though afterwards I did vaguely remember Joey entering and hearing him whispering Garrett's name tenderly a few times. I thought at the time he had just knelt on the bed a moment and then left.
Anyway, we awoke, then prepared for an evening out. Garrett went on a pub crawl about town (the Dinsbury Dozen. You can imagine from that how sober they were when they returned) with all the other applicable males. Since it was the fourth of July, all the Americans attempted to blend in with the Brits and wore American flag t-shirts.
Meanwhile, Lynn and I dressed up like classy people and went to a fancy restaurant with Jo, her bridesmaids, and a couple close friends. This restaurant was delightful because it had the posh sort of food that's all piled up in the middle of your plate, layered fish to asparagus, and has an expensive sauce flung round it like the artistic foodie version of My Art Spinner.
This was my desert. Lemon meringue shortcake with raspberry sherbert and a decaf cappuccino.
That night we got back around midnight, and the men stumbled home about twenty minutes later (they had walked two miles back from the last pub). I went down to greet them and found the younger ones seated around the kitchen table with diet coke chasers and a liter of Swedish vodka.
"Abby!" says Bryce. "Vodka?"
I looked at the cup in his hand, around the table, and thought about the next morning--the morning I'd promised to help decorate the reception venue. I sighed and sat down. The evening ended a liter of vodka and a political fight later at 4:30 am. I decided it was time for bed when I realized that the light growing steadily stronger outside was the dawn, and not Manchester proper.
The next day (Friday) was a bit rough, but the reception hall looked wonderful!
That morning I went downstairs and most of the Kimball men were naked in some way or another. It is apparently a thing that happens frequently.
Tame photo after some clothes had been donned.
Joey and Bryce making their tummy fat kiss.
Joey, I will use these photos later as blackmail if necessary.
It was only after an apple had been added to the mix that Frank suddenly bellowed for them to cut it out because his in-laws were at the door.
I drew this for the front page of the guestbook (moustaches were a party favour theme).
Another thing that happened was the rehearsal, where all the groomsmen misbehaved.
The next day was Saturday and it was the day of the wedding!
And for basically the entire morning all the men were mostly naked again because their pants were being hemmed. I went downstairs and Joey, Bryce, and Frank were in their "pants" which in England means their "underpants." Then I tried to escape upstairs and found Scott in his pants.
"Poor thing," said Momma Lynn to me afterwards. "You had to see the father-in-law in his undies."
I didn't get pictures of any of that for you, though.
Here are a few photos after they were clothed:
Prep in the morning.
Frank and Momma Lynn.
Joey looking presidential.
This is Grandmother Edith. She was super excited about all the handsome young men and planted a fat one right on Garrett's smacker before anybody could warn him. Joey accepted his kiss, but Bryce managed to deflect and just catch it on the cheek.
Kimball men.
Kisses.
Looking regal before he weds.
Unfortunately I couldn't get any photos during the actual wedding because Frank and Jo had decided to make it not only a wedding, but a worship service. It was completely awesome and we sang great songs like
And one or two I didn't even know, but the Baptist Kimballs did. It was a great idea, and really encouraging. I wasn't expecting the Brits to sing so loudly or with so much feeling.
Yay us. <3
Selfie while walking through a park to do creative photos of the bridal party.
We find the new Kimballs at the park!
A flower I found. It was a beautiful park.
D'aww.
Brothers apart.
Brotherly love.
Kimball men strutting their stuff.
Mine.
Sneaky photo I took of a happy Garrett face at the reception.
Having some laughs after the wedding.
Scott practicing his "father of the groom" speech.
Boys just want to have fun.
Frank's speech at the reception. I maybe cried a little bit.
The best men's speech. Garrett starts them off. Apparently this is a huge deal in England and everybody looks forward to it. The only rules are no stories about exes, and you have to mention at least once how beautiful the bride is, and thatthe bridesmaids are also lovely and have performed their jobs wonderfully.
Of course, Garrett, Bryce, and Joey all did their jobs admirably and well-enough to satisfy even the British expectations.
Bryce enjoying some wine.
Some Hardy boys from Yorkshire.
Bridal party!
Bryce speachifyin'
Joey channeling Romney: "Let me answer that question by asking you a question..."
Hugs of appreciation.
Then there was much dancing and great rejoicing and the wine flowed and we didn't leave the party until well after midnight.
The next day Garrett and I got up early and took a train to Birmingham to meet up with my cousin, Krystel, her husband Brandon, and their three kids!
The menfolk, chatting. I only got one picture of Krystel, and unfortunately it was a really bad one with weird lighting. Arg. Oh, well.
Oh, but we did see some super ugly statues.
This reclining fox lady looked really unbalanced and had her arms off to the side in an awkward gesture, cupping water.
Also this thing that is like the bastard cub of Persia and Easter Island, with a dash of Buddha and some mongrel.
Derp.
It was at this point, walking behind our men, Krystel and I suddenly realized we have a "type."
We did.
Then on Monday we went to Wales!
We really had much more fun than this picture represents.
Welsh, man.
Sometimes it was hard to tell which was the English translation and how to pronounce it.
In Wales there are just castles like, lying around. This one is Conwy Castle. It was built by Edward 1 between 1283-89 and was just the right mixture of run down and well-preserved.
And this is the last photo I took before my phone battery died. Sigh.
Anyway, after the castle, we decided to find some roman ruins, so we left Conwy and drove about twenty minutes before we saw a sign for the town and church with the longest name in the world:
So we visited that old church, then drove for another twenty minutes and found a Neolithic burial site just out in the country in the middle of a bunch of fields with sheep and cows in them.
We never did find any roman sites, but we did find a cute little bistro for dinner. I had Ciabatta bread with brie cheese and mango chutney, Lynn got a delicious little mackerel, and most of the rest of the guys got fish and chips made with pretty much the freshest fish ever, given our nearness to a body of water that--I believe--connects with the Irish sea?
Then we went home and all our conversations with British people went thusly:
Us: "Yeah, we went to Wales."
Them: "What, all in one day??"
Us: "Yes. Nice little day trip."
Them: "All the way to Wales!?"
Us: "It's only an hour and a half drive?"
Them: *unbelieving*
Us: "Here, let us explain "America" and distances to you..."
The next day the rest of the Kimballs and Joey went on to Sweden and Germany to visit friends, and Garrett and I came home to Pittsburgh.
